Mad, Bad and Dangerous to Know
by DylanMcKaysdreamgirl
Summary: This is a Beverly Hills 90210 prequel story about Dylan. What was his life like before the Walsh's moved to Beverly Hills? How was his relationship with his father? This story will lead up to Brenda and Dylan falling in love. Join me as we uncover the mystery of this iconic character. *Dedicated to the loving memory of the legendary Luke Perry*
1. Chapter 1

_*This story is dedicated to the legend Luke Perry, who not only brought Dylan to life but gave him a soul.*_

** Mad, Bad and Dangerous to Know**

"You're a fucking piece of shit, just like your mother Dylan. You always will be!"

Jack pushed me against the wall hard. I looked into his cold dead eyes. They were filled with rage, and emptiness, like two black stones in the place of eyes. This man wasn't my father. He couldn't be. I didn't know this man. I tried to move away, but his hands pushed my shoulders back slamming me again.

All of this because I wouldn't leave the suite so he could entertain some whore he brought back. It's been my suite since he kicked me out of the house. This is where I stay, but every so often dad comes by to remind me that he runs things, and pays the bills.

"Get off me!" I holler back at him.

"No, I'm not going to get off you, until you apologize for being a spoiled rotten little shit!"

"Screw you Jack, if I'm that way it's because you made me that way!"

"Apologize now dammit!"

Instead, I spit in his face, that finally gets him off me.

I back away, as Jack (my father) wipes the spittle out of his eyes.

"Fuck you, Jack!" My hands are shaking, and I want to kill him. I hate him so much, my own rage all but consumes me. If I could I would light this whole room on fire and never look back.

"You little shit!" He charges for me now, but I pick up one of the empty bottles off the table and threaten him with it. I hold it high above my head. If he comes one step closer, I'll do it. I'll smash this over his head, and kill him.

"Jack, Jack baby please just let it go!" His whore rushes over to him now. She's clutching at her dress, with her tits hanging out.

I came home from school to find my father fucking this woman right on the sofa. He screamed at me to get out, then I told him to get out. Then before I knew it, we were knocking things over and destroying the room. We've had some bad fights, but this is the one where I might finally snap. I can't take any more of him.

I don't know who's drunker right now him or me. I'm drunk as usual, but I see things clearly too. My father is a lowlife criminal, and I was cursed to be born his son.

Jack's chest heaves with anger, as the whore clings to him. I hope he can't see my arm shaking. I can't let him know that I'm scared. I'm scared of this man. He's cruel, and evil, and hates me obviously.

"Get the fuck out," Jack almost whispers now out of breath.

I throw the bottle against the wall now. I wish it was his head. The glass shatters and breaks like my own broken heart.

"Fine...I'll go...I just hope you're gone when I get back." I grab my jacket off a chair and back out of the room through bleary eyes. I'm crying now, and glad he can't see.

I hurry down the hotel hallway jamming my arms into my long gray overcoat. The swirls on the carpet start to hypnotize my eyes, and I concentrate on them as I make my way slowly to the end of the hall.

I find the door that leads to the stairwell, and I push it open. I take the stairs as fast as I can, almost two at a time. When I get to the top, I push the door open and suck in a breath for dear life. I hurry to the edge of the roof and look down at the traffic whizzing below, then up at the hills in front of me. There's no escape from this life.

"Ahhhhhhhh!" I scream out at the top of my lungs, banging my fists against the concrete barrier.

I let it out until my voice gives out. No one hears me anyway, no one ever does. I'm on the roof of The Bel Age hotel, and the people down below are more worried about whether their Mercedes looks cool, or if their designer shit makes their ass look fat, then about some screaming kid up on a roof.

Welcome to my hell on Earth. Welcome to Beverly Hills.

I give up now, and bury my head in my hands, running my hands over my face before daring to look out again. From here the palm trees look like towering monsters, and the sunset burning the sky might as well be the road to hell.

I hate this place. I hate this fucking hotel. I hate my life. I hate myself.

I slump down now against the barrier, turning my back to the so-called paradise in front of me. I curl up now in a ball, and before I know it, sleep hits me like my father's slap to my face.

_Author's Note:_ _Dear Readers,_

_ I know that was intense, but in this story, I really want to explore Dylan's mystery, and what his relationship with his family was really like. What drove him to drinking, and being the troubled young man he was? What's going on in his head? I love the character of Dylan McKay, and can't wait to find out more about him through writing this prequel. This story will lead up to Brenda and Dylan getting together. I hope you join me on this ride as we get to know the mad, bad and dangerous one himself. _


	2. Day in The Life

**Day in The Life**

I wake up to a hazy sunrise over my head, feeling like the sky is about to fall down right on top of me. Music blasts loud from somewhere, a song called hippy chick that the radio stations have been playing a lot, and a bird takes a shit on the roof, and it barely misses me by a couple inches plopping down nearby.

The bile starts to rise, and I get up quick heaving my guts out over the side of The Bel Age. It feels good to puke it all out. Just when I think I'm done more comes out. Just your typical Beverly Hills morning. The fight with Jack comes rushing back to me in a montage of screams and thrown objects. It's a violent blur through my head, like a fast train I can't stop.

I squint my eyes when I'm done, and look out around me. It's morning now. I was passed out up here all night. It's a school morning, and I'm definitely not ready to go skipping off to West Beverly.

I cough a few times and glare out at my city. I wish that bird could have told me where it was going so I could follow it somewhere, anywhere. I wish I could fly off this roof, and never come back.

It's time to face another day. A day that will be like all the others in my life. By the haze of the sky, I can tell I'm going to be late for school soon, not that I give a shit. I don't want to go, but I don't want to stay here all day either. I've sat in this hotel for what feels like an eternity. I'm sick of everything here. I'm sick of the doormen, and the room service. I'm sick of the concierges, and the bellhops. Mostly I'm sick of my father, and of myself.

_My father _even saying it like that in my head sounds bizarre. I don't know what Jack McKay is to me. He's mostly a man I'm stuck with. A man who lets me know every time, that my existence on this planet, makes him feel indifferent at best.

God, I want a drink right now. Nothing gets the morning started right like a little vodka, and OJ.

I start heading back to the suite not knowing what I'll find in there if Jack didn't change the locks or rooms on me that is. I reach the suite door and take a big breath before entering my key card. It actually opens, and I walk in cautiously.

I'm expecting to find Jack, laid out with his whore but instead, the room is empty, and it's neat and tidy. Everything is back in its place. Even the carpets which were covered in food after I flipped over Jack's room service have been cleaned and changed. The broken glass from the smashed bottle is gone. It looks like the elegant suite it's supposed to be, not the den of my loneliness and despair. I've lived here for a year since Jack kicked me out of his mansion in the hills last year.

There's fresh flowers now, sitting in a vase by the window. I walk over to them and finger them gently until a petal breaks off in my hands. Room service has been here and done quite a job on the place. Jack must have tipped them pretty good to clean up fast. _Dad_ is one of The Bel Age's most high profile guests, and what Jack McKay asks for he gets. He's considered a guest, but he's not usually here unless he's meeting people like last night. He lets me stay here, so I'm not homeless. Gee what a guy.

I notice a paper sitting on a table, and go look at it. _Dylan, _it reads with no other words. I pick it up, and sitting underneath is a check for $20,000. I don't do a double take or anything because it's the usual. Jack comes around, he ruins and destructs everything in his path, mostly me. Then the next day, he writes out a check for me. That's what he does. He throws money at me and calls it some kind of love after we fight, but the man doesn't love me. He only loves money, and more, and more of it. And it's dirty money. That's why he threw me out. I dared question his _business practices. Dad's_ a financier, and I overheard him one night talking with his associates about some dirty dealings he was involved with. I was so drunk and uninhibited I burst into the room and interrupted him. He'd been wanting to throw me out for awhile though. He was sick of my alcoholism, and general existence. When you're busy fundling people out of millions of dollars you're not exactly worried about being dad of the year.

Where's mom? She's off getting her chakras aligned in Hawaii, and _finding herself_. Mom's a space case more into crystals, and palm readings than being a mother. Jack has had custody of me since I was 6 when my parent's divorced. He lets me know whenever he gets the chance, that mom doesn't care about me, and never did. Otherwise, why wouldn't she be here? Jack thinks he raised me, but the maids did. I've spent more time with hired help over the years, than my own father or mother. I can't count the number of Christmas's I spent home with the maid, and her family, while Jack was off skiing, or in the Bahamas with the whore of the week.

My stomach churns at the sight of all the zeroes on the check. I crumple it in my fist and toss it in my pocket before plopping down on the couch. I hang my head in my hands rubbing my temples, trying to get the pounding to stop. I know there are kids who envy me and want this life. They want this life, of no rules, and no restrictions. I can come and go as I please, and I do, and there's always a pile of money waiting for me. If they want this life, they can have it, because I hate it. The money will never buy happiness. At least not mine. Some people don't get that. They think the world is my oyster, but it's not. That's the thing about money when you have enough of it, and you're still not happy you realize how truly fucked you are. Where do you go from the very top? At least if you're poor, you have something to work towards in life, some kind of reason to your existence, but having money, and still being completely miserable with nothing else to shoot for, feels like floating in space near a black hole. You're living an empty purposeless life. Poor little rich boy, they probably think, not that I give a shit.

The suite is making me want to heave again. It's the last place I want to be, so I'm going to go to school, just to get the hell out of here today. These walls and floors feel like they're suffocating me, and all I can hear is the sound of Jack calling me a "piece of shit." over and over. I bang my fists against my head lightly trying to quiet my thoughts, then I get up abruptly.

I head towards the bathroom and clean up for the day, so I can go skipping off to school like a good little boy. I really want my drink, but since I have to drive this morning it's not a good idea right now. There's always tonight and every night.

A half hour later I'm pulling my classic 1961 356 Porsche Speedster out of The Bel Age Hotel parking lot. I turn the corner a little too sharp and hit the gas a little too hard before cruising the rest of the way to school.

Beverly Hills sales past my doors like a fancy, freak show, as I ride along. I don't get this place. It's like some kind of luxury eutopia but if you sail just a couple blocks past it, you're right back in the smog, and dirty piss smelling streets with crumbling apartment buildings, and out of work bums. This place is an illusion. It serves no purpose but to make it look like things are rosy and good but they're definitely not.

I pull into West Beverly sharply cutting the engine rough. I'm totally late, so no one is around. I hop out of my car without opening up the door or pulling up the hood. You don't have to worry about getting robbed around here since the parking lot is a what's what, of Corvettes, and Beamers.

I walk into school not bothering to head to administration to get a late slip. By the clock, it looks like it's already second period so I peak into my history class to see the teacher with her back to the board. I duck in quickly and take my seat in the back before she can turn around to see.

A couple of other kids see me, but don't dare say shit. The teacher is writing on the blackboard about the civil war. I flip open my notebook to start taking notes. I shake my head to myself at the word, _war. _If anyone wants to learn about war just hang out with me and Jack. I try to focus and take my mind off it, but that nasty fight runs through my mind. Every time it just gets uglier, and uglier. The hatred in his eyes, and the heaviness of his hand.

Then a note falls on my desk, folded up into a triangle. I look around and open it quietly.

_Hey Sexy_ it reads. I feel myself smirk in spite of myself. It sure reads nicer than Jack's note this morning. I look up, and I spot this hot girl Michelle Abrams waving at me a row up, to the side. She blows me a kiss. Michelle is pretty well known around here, and I know she likes me. I think she's cute, and all, but I'm just whatever about it right now.

I'm also known around here, I've grown up with some of these people, but I don't have friends if that makes sense. People know of me, but they don't know me, and I'm not close with anyone, and I like it that way. I don't need anyone knowing the details of my family life, and of my _law-abiding_ father. Besides wanting things never worked out for anyone. I want an actual family, and that wish only seems to bring me misery, and heartache.

I smile at her, and write back simply _Hey babe, what's up besides my wild dreams? _I pass the note up, and my classmates get it to her. I watch as she opens it and smiles widely. Good, my work is done there.

The bell rings loudly, and the teacher fires off some reading we're supposed to do, but I don't bother writing it down since I'm sure I've already read it. That's how I pass my time at the suite, and everywhere I just read, and read, and read, wondering when the world is finally going to end outside my book. I love reading. There's nothing better than getting lost in literature to make me forget that once I set it down, it's back to the pain of existence. That's what I did the whole time growing up. Mom was long gone, and dad was building his empire, and losing his morals. I just read and read. I went all the way from Dr. Seuss to Bukowski and Shakespeare. My absolute favorite writer in the world though is the great Lord Byron. His poetry is like stepping inside the deepest corners of your mind that you didn't even know were there. One of his lovers described him as being "mad, bad and dangerous to know." That's how I like to think of myself, and how I hope my lovers think of me.

As if reading my thoughts as I'm walking down the hall, I'm pulled into a dark hallway, and suddenly a girl is kissing me, and running her hands all over my unmentionables. It's a nice kiss, and I open my eyes to find Stacy Channing all over me.

I pull away, and she smiles at me wildly. "Hi Dylan..."

"Hey Stacy..." I smile back not all that surprised.

"I didn't see you in first period, I missed you."

"Yeah, I was a little sleepy this morning."

"Poor baby, maybe this will wake you up." Stacy starts kissing me some more. I have to admit, it feels good, and I'm getting turned on in spite of myself.

Stacy and I have screwed around a few times. She wants to keep it going, but I'm getting a little bored. She's a nice girl, but not into anything that matters. Besides, there's hot tail running all up and down these halls.

'Let's go to the bathroom," she whispers into my ear now.

I want to say no, but I'm coming off one of the worst nights of my life, maybe I need this. I want to just forget, and feel good for a change.

I look around, as the final late bell rings for third period. Nobody is around or watching us. I spin her around, and we're in a bathroom. We lock the door, and then we're all over each other. I sit her on top of the sink, and clothes start coming off very fast. It's all a blur. Stacy starts moaning like a wild banshee, as I push into her. I have to tell her _"shh,"_ I'm not in the mood to be expelled today.

After a while, we both release, and it's good and great. She pants against me, as I pull up my pants. I wish I could feel more for her, but I don't. It's strictly physical. I often wonder what sex is like when you really have actual feelings about the person you're with. I don't think I've ever had feelings about anything. I've only felt numb, and drunk.

"Mmm McKay that felt so good." Stacy pulls up her bra straps and smiles at me satisfied.

"It sure did," I kiss her now, and look into her eyes for a moment, as I hold onto a piece of her hair. Maybe I want to see something, maybe I want to see if I'm right that there's nothing between us.

Stacy looks into my eyes and then bursts out laughing. "Oh my god, you're totally freaking me out right now. What's with all the staring babe?"

I back away knowing I was right about there being nothing _real _between us.

"Nothing...just admiring how pretty you are," I say to say something. Stacy has bright red dyed hair, green eyes, and a diamond piercing in her nose. It looks sexy on her. She's wild, and fun but when it comes to making conversation she just laughs more than finishes actual sentences.

She starts fumbling around in her backpack and pulls out a flask. She takes a big sip and wipes at her mouth. "You want a taste babe?"

I eye the little silver flask. I need to say no. I've been trying to attend AA meetings regularly, but I've fallen off the wagon hard lately.

Stacy waves it at me, taunting me with it, without knowing. I take her up on the offer and put it in my hand. The liquid burns down my throat hot, and dry, but once it settles fast, that warm cloudiness is back, and I'm as numb as I need to be.

Stacy hops off the sink and takes the flask from me. "Save some for me Dylan."

I smile at her, and she kisses me on the cheek. Stacy knows she can trust me. I would never tell anyone about our time together. I'm not like the other dudes around here, who list off the girls they've banged as if they're sport. That's not my thing at all. I'm a private kind of guy. We just like to have a little fun together from time to time.

"Thanks baby, so I'll see you kay..." she tells me.

"Bye Stace..." We share a short kiss on the lips, and then she walks out of the bathroom. The door closes behind her, and I look at myself in the mirror. Only four more periods until the day is over, and I have to face reality back at the suite again, and I'm dreading every second of it.

#

The bell to end seventh period rings out, and I reluctantly gather my stuff up. It's not like I like school or anything, but sometimes I don't know what's worse hanging out at the suite waiting for dad to burst in again, and make my life hell while I drink my sorrows away, or coming here to this plastic land of phoniness. I guess I'd consider it a tie right now.

I walk out to my car slowly while kids rush around me like manic morons, without a care in the world. I wonder what it would be like to be on the other side, and not have to walk around with this heaviness inside me all day. I wish I could be as carefree as them, but I can't.

I'm almost to the Porsche when something in the parking lot catches my attention. It's another car in the lot. An old car. It's a rust bucket piece of shit that looks totally out of place in the West Beverly showroom lot of expensive vehicles. The car is ugly, and a putrid puky brownish color, and whoever drives it, is totally not from around here, and that's why I love it. I find myself staring hard at it, wondering what the hell it's doing here, and who the hell owns it. It's almost like spotting a diamond in the rough.

_So Dylan spotted Brandon's car Mondale in the parking lot, but he hasn't met Brandon or Brenda yet. They're on the way so hold on with me. Some fun fan things you might have caught in this chapter is first, the song Dylan is woken up to on the roof is Hippychick by Soho. It was one of the original songs played in the show, in a few of the early season 1 episodes. It just takes me back to 90210 whenever I hear it. Also the famous Stacy! Stacy is the girl Dylan spent some time with in Baja while he and Brenda were broken up during the summer of season 2 on the show. She's the girl Brenda found out, Dylan took to La Boca Grande De Baja. Well stay with me, and I hope you're enjoying things. The reviews and follows mean so much, and I'm so happy to be on here, back in Beverly Hills with you!_


	3. The Ocean

**The Ocean**

There's something about the ocean...It's the one steady force in my life. It doesn't matter if Jack is flying off the handle, or if I'm drunk or sober when I look at the ocean. It's always here. Steady and calm, coming back to the shores for all of eternity. Maybe that's why I love surfing so much. The ocean drowns everything else out. When I'm riding a set, all I can see, and feel are the colors, and for that brief moment before the wipeout, I feel the short too fast thrill of being alive.

Byron wrote, _"Roll on, thou deep and dark blue Ocean-roll!" _That's exactly how I feel as I sit here staring at the waves breaking in the dusk. There were some good sets today. It helped me clear my head of all the bullshit. I haven't seen Jack since the fight, and it's better that way. I tell myself that but a part of me wants to see him too. I wish he would walk in sometimes, and take it all back. I wish he wanted to have a son, but I know that's not going to happen.

I spin the bottle around in my hands. Drinking at the beach feels so natural. It's almost as if the ocean itself is inside the alcohol. I take a swig from my little flask. After it hits my lips though, I know I'm wrong. Luckily before I can have any more I'm interrupted.

"Hey McKay, we didn't catch you out there today. The waves were peeling this morning." Eric approaches me with his pals Dwayne, and Sarah.

Eric, Dwayne, and Sarah are some regular party wavers. We surf together a lot. I don't tell them but Eric and Dwayne are actually a couple of Barneys (not good) on the board. Sarah's good though. The guys call her Betty like a surf Betty, but I know she's more than just a dumb blonde. Sometimes people run with the wrong crowd though.

"Yeah I was just on the other side of the beach, sorry you missed me." I actually wasn't. The truth is I didn't feel like surfing with Eric and Dwayne this morning. I just wanted to be alone.

They all sit down with me now. Eric and Dwayne position themselves right next to me, and Sarah's sits to the side. Dwayne grabs my flask without asking and starts guzzling it. I give him a look, but instead of handing it back he passes it to Eric, and Sarah actually has her own.

That's another thing I do with these guys. We get drunk together, but lately, I've been wanting to drink alone. That's how I know my alcoholism is just getting worse. If I don't get to another AA meeting soon, things are only going to get uglier.

"No problem dude, we'll just hang loose with you right here. You got any more of this?" Eric taps the bottom of the flask with his hand, attempting to get the last drop into his mouth.

"No, I think you took care of it," I tell him, trying to hide the annoyance in my voice.

"We missed you out there Dylan. The waves were heavy." Sarah smiles at me, pulling her flask from her lips.

I give her a smile, and Eric seems to take that as some kind of threat because he moves closer to Sarah in the sand, and puts an arm around her. Sarah and I are just friends and Eric is a total Barney.

"So McKay what's on for tonight?" Dwayne asks.

"You're looking at it," I tell him hoping they'll get the hint and leave.

"Come on dude there's got to be something going on tonight?" Dwayne persists.

"Yeah man, I heard there's going to be a party up at that hotel, what's it called, the Bel Age? Tonight on the roof. You know where it is?" Eric asks.

Eric, Dwayne, and Sarah don't know I'm living at the hotel. I really don't let anyone know. When people figure out you have money, and live by yourself in a hotel things get weird. When they figure out you're Jack McKay's son they get even weirder.

"Yeah, I think I've heard of it," I say tilting my head. I give Sarah another smile just to piss Eric off.

"So what are we waiting for dude?" Dwayne smiles a big dorky grin while he and Eric slap five.

#

Before I could say no Eric, Dwayne, and Sarah are in the Porsche, and we're on our way to some party happening on the roof of The Bel Age. This is totally not what I want to be doing right now, but we're all young, dumb, and have entirely too much time on our hands.

Eric, Dwayne, and Sarah are all acting extra drunk, and if anyone pukes in my car, they're going to be _hanging ten _on the sidewalk.

I pull into the Bel Age lot, and we all get out. I tell everyone to act cool since I know the management, and if they take one look at these guys they're going to want them out.

I act like I don't know where it is, but I find the elevator that leads us up to the rooftop pool where this party is. There's two sides to the roof. The one I slept on the other night doesn't have the pool.

We ride up to the top together. Eric is making weird faces supposedly funny faces, and Dwayne and Sarah find it hilarious.

The elevator dings to the top, and when we get off we're greeted to a lamp lit pool party. A typical LA scene kid soiree. All around the pool are strung up lanterns creating a glimmer on the pool, and boring LA people are standing around holding drinks smugly. I don't know what the hell this party is for, but nobody looks twice at us, as we start to walk around. I hate parties. I hate going to them, being at them, and most of all I hate mingling with party folk.

Eric, and Dwayne head right for the bar, and Sarah kind of follows me in awe of everything. Some people are actually in the pool. The music is knocking, and the place is packed.

"Wow, this is so cool." Sarah mouths.

I'm glad she's enjoying herself, but I want to leave. Being here isn't exactly new or thrilling for me.

Eric and Dwayne come back over now with some glasses of something, they have two others for Sarah, and me, but I turn mine down. After all, I'd prefer to be drinking alone right now.

"They're not even carding," Dwayne states happily.

Eric sets his drink down, now, "Hey Betty do you like swimming?"

"Yeah Eric sure I do," Betty says happily sipping her drink.

Eric proceeds to push her into the pool now, but she's quick enough to grab his wrist at the same time so he goes in with her.

"Wooo," Sarah yells as they hit the water.

Dwayne sets his drink down now and does a running leap into the pool canon ball style.

"Wipeout!" he yells as he ends up spraying water on some of the guests. They all start frolicking around splashing water at each other happily.

"Come on Dylan, get in," Sarah calls to me, but I politely decline.

I shake my head at them and turn away, and walk towards the roof ledge. I look out at Los Angeles and feel a night breeze sweeping across the roof. LA lights shine like neon lasers across the distance with billboards advertising the most stupid shit, raised higher than they need to be. Traffic zooms by, and I wonder where everyone is going. Where do they have to be that's so damn important? I look up at the moon, and I wonder what else is out there. Who else is out there?

"Can I interest you in anything?"

"Huh?" I turn around and standing in front of me is some dude. He looks about college age.

"You looking to score?"

"What?" I know what he's getting at though. There's always drugs at these parties, and all over LA. Drinking is my usual vice, but I've experimented with different things here and there. You hang out in Beverly Hills scenes long enough, and drugs become like being offered hors-d'oeuvres.

"I'm Stuart."

"Great, and I'm not impressed," I tell the dude. He reads like your typical sack of shit whose parents probably bribed his way into whatever elite college he attends. Little do they know their little bundle of joy is dealing drugs on the side, as daddy waits for him to take over the family business.

Stuart laughs off my insult because you know rich pompous jackasses are mostly insultable. He takes something out of his front pocket. It's a folded up little rectangle of paper.

"On the house," he says. He places the folded little paper in my shirt pocket.

"Can I ask why?"

"Hey, it's a party kid, just enjoy yourself. Remember me though I'm Stuart."

_Stuart_ walks away. I watch him go wanting to push him into the pool. Nothing good ever happens up on this roof. I reach into my shirt pocket and take the folded square out of my pocket. I'm about to throw it off the roof, but something gets the better of me. I start unfolding it slowly, to find some white powder inside. Just a little coke. Yes, I've done it before, and no I'm not proud. I look around as the party rages on around me. Maybe I do need to loosen up and _enjoy myself _ like that waste of air said. Life's been a bitch lately. Before I can make up my mind, I'm being pulled aside, and the stuff falls out of my hands anyway, and over the roof.

"Dad?" It's actually Jack pulling me away now from the party. I'm shocked to see him obviously.

He doesn't respond, as he pushes me towards the elevators. I can't read his emotionless expression he's just pulling me out of the party. We reach the elevator, and he drags me inside.

"What's going on?" I demand.

He doesn't answer me, he just holds onto the back of my shirt like I'm 12 years old. We reach the suite floor, and the elevator stops. He pushes me off it too roughly.

"No need to push Jack!" I yell at him.

"Shut your mouth!" He smacks me across the hair.

"What the hell!" I yell

"Is this what we call keeping a low profile?!" he yells.

I don't know what the hell he's talking about. I don't know what the hell he's doing back here so soon.

"So two visits in only a week, wow I'm shocked. To what do I owe the honor!"

Jack opens up the suite and pulls me inside. "Sit down!" he yells.

I do as I'm told because he scares me. When I walk into the suite there's a bunch of other somber looking dudes inside all wearing business suits. They all look like your typical white collar criminals just like my own father. Is this the mob I think my dad might be connected to?

"Hey if you're ready to go another round dad, I'm ready!" I shout raising my arms in the air. Trying to sound more confident than I feel.

"You're drunk as usual!" he yells at me

"And you're an asshole!" I shout back.

"Shut your mouth right now." He grits his teeth.

The goons in the room are all watching this expressionless.

Jack stands in front of me now. "I need to talk to you about something important. I have some very clear directions you're going to need to follow in a few weeks."

I roll my eyes and put my head in my hands. Not more of dad's _special instructions. _This is the last thing I need right now.

"Dylan, are you listening to me?" He lowers his voice now, and I look up at him. Everyone in the room is staring at me.

"What?" I give up now.

"In a few weeks, I'm going to need you to wait at a vault for me. We're going to be making a deposit. You need to be there son."

"Why?" I demand.

"Don't ask why just be there. Suntrust bank vault at noon on the 27th."

It doesn't look like saying no to this right now is the best option, for me, or Jack actually.

"Dylan are you going to be there?" he asks calmly but with urgency.

I look up at him, wondering why this is our life. Why can't he just be a normal father? How come I don't know who this man is?

I don't know what the hell is going on, and I don't think I want to know.

"Yeah...yeah, I'll be there," I mutter.

"Good. I'm going to be in Paris for the next couple of weeks on business. I need you to take care of things around here," he informs me

"Right _business,_" I say sarcastically.

Jack doesn't bother responding to my snide tone. He grabs his briefcase off a table, and the other men in the room stand up now.

"See you in a few weeks," he says to me as they all start walking towards the door.

"Jack," I call out but he ignores me. "Dad!" I say it louder but the door shuts behind them with no response. And that's that. Dad's off to conduct some more _business_ and I'm stuck here.

I walk over to the vase of flowers and knock it off the table. I just need to hit something either that or put my fist through the wall.

Just another friendly chat with _dad._

_Note: _So,_ I know this chapter didn't have Brandon or Brenda yet, but we're getting there. This is Dylan's life right before he meets the Walsh's. I hope you're still with me. Some fun recognizable stuff here. Obviously, we know Eric, Dwayne, and Sarah from the Green Room Episode. Did you catch Stuart as the guy handing Dylan drugs?! That's right that was the Stuart who Brenda was actually engaged too, and who Dylan knew was a piece of shit. There's a reason Dylan knew everyone. He was on the scene, and he led a fast life in Beverly Hills. Drugs and alcohol were everywhere. Hold on with me, the ride is just getting started! _


	4. Ocean Eyes

**Ocean Eyes**

After my _chat _with dad, I spent the rest of the night curled up in the corner of the room with a bottle of Jack Daniels in my hands. Jack tells me I'm an alcoholic but still manages to keep plenty of booze stalked in the suite. I guess he forgot to remove it. Add it to the long list of other things Jack forgets.

Something about that little conversation and scene we had was extra bad. I can see the stony faces off those goons in the room with us, and hear the stressed tone of Jack's voice. The feel of doom hangs in the air, and it feels like only a matter of time before myself, Jack, this suite, and the whole charade of this Beverly Hills life comes crashing down.

I open up the door to the suite balcony and take a look outside. I'm very drunk now and have to grip the steel barricade for support. I think of all the other real families out there, and wonder what they're doing right now. Normal people are probably sitting down at the table for a meal. They're probably talking about their day and offering each other support. They're not lonely on a balcony with a bottle of hard liquor in their hands, wondering if their dad is going to be killed by the mob, or if he's also one of the bad guys. I fish around in my pockets and find dad's $20,000 dollar check he left me. It's still crumpled up. I open it up and look at it hard. The zeroes on the paper seem to shout at me _loser_, _screw_ _up_, and _piece of shit_. The sound of Jack's voice screams in my ears. Then I see other things. I see me grabbing my favorite book, and sitting in dad's lap so I can read it to him. I see dad teaching me how to ride a bike, and he and mom holding onto both my hands at the park. The green grass underneath my feet made me feel like I was running through a cloud that day. The once happy laughter turns into a deafening sound of silence in my head.

I take the check and rip it up angrily tossing the shreds over the balcony with all my might. The shreds disappear and float away into the night. I grab my bottle again, tossing it back down my throat, and head back inside before I fall off the balcony.

#

The next day I wake up, with the cloud of doom hovering close and dark. I force myself to school, and I'm so hungover, I feel like my brain is swishing back and forth in my head like a wave.

When I get to school it's the regular shit show of ostentatiousness and lunacy. You've got to be drunk to be able to deal with this place.

"Hey Dylan..."

I turn to my side, and Kelly Taylor is walking next to me. I've known Kelly for a long time. She's about as Beverly Hills as it gets. Kelly is just about the most popular girl, in school, and she's known to be quite the party girl. She is sexy though. We flirt back and forth once in a while, and she's always coming up to me asking me stupid shit, every now and then. I can tell she might be harboring a thing for me. I like to humor her, but the truth is I'm not interested.

"Hey Kelly..." She's walking beside me now, as I head to second period.

"So is it true?" Kelly asks.

"Is what true?"

"Is it true, about the girl in Paris. Did you get her pregnant?" she asks bluntly.

I sort of half laugh. Not this again. There's this rumor going around school that I knocked up a girl in Paris. I don't know how the hell it got started but it's only half true. There was a girl from Paris I had a thing with. She was an exchange student. We were sleeping together for a few months in Paris last summer, but then she wanted more, and I didn't. She got upset because she transferred here just for me. She decided to go back to France since I wasn't returning her affections but before she left, she must have told everyone she was pregnant, just to mess with me. She wasn't and isn't pregnant because she still calls me from time to time, and has sent me some naked photos from France.

Instead of getting pissed I answer Kelly's question with another question. "Do you want it to be true?" I ask her playfully.

Kelly stops walking, and just kind of eyes me like a hungry animal. I keep walking to class leaving her in the hall.

Once I'm in my seat, I sigh to myself. I'm so sick of all the rumors, and questions. People act like they see me, but they're not really seeing me. No one is. I flip open my notebook wondering why I bothered showing up at all today.

The teacher Mrs. Peters is going on and on about something that happened a zillion years ago. It all feels irrelevant. Suddenly there's another triangle shaped note being dropped on my desk.

I open it up and it reads, _Hey McKay, so when are you and I going to hang out? Michelle_

I look up to find that girl Michelle who likes me, giving me an anxious look over her shoulder. I forgot she was even in this class. I'm about to write back one of my flirty non-committal quips, but I stop myself. Maybe it would be nice, to hang out tonight, and take my mind off Jack, and this vault thing. Maybe if I'm not alone tonight I won't spend it getting plastered. _How 'bout tonight? _: ) _Peach Pit 8 o'clock,_ I write back with a smiley face, but before I pass it up-

"_Mr. McKay_, care to join us today?" Mrs. Peters says out loud in front of the entire room.

I look up from my seat in the back, to find the whole class staring at me.

I'm not usually a class clown, in fact, I don't offer shit in here most of the time, but I'm still half drunk, and not in the mood for Mrs. Peters shit right now.

"That depends, are you offering?" I ask out loud. The class goes crazy with laughter and hooting. Mrs. Peters turns bright red. I sit back in my seat and fold my arms proud of myself.

"Mr. McKay I'm going to pretend you didn't just say that."

"And I'm going to pretend you're not making my hormones happy." The class laughs some more. Mrs. Peters is actually a total TILF (Teacher I'd like to fuck,) and I dig older chicks, not that I would try anything. It's just fun getting her back, for signaling me out. I don't take kindly to authority.

"Mr. McKay if you're not going to take this class seriously, then I suggest you leave now." Mrs. Peters is practically foaming at the mouth with anger.

"But Mrs. Peters we haven't talked about tonight yet?

"Out!" she yells.

I'm happy to get out of here. That will teach her to pick on me again. I fold up my note to Michelle, and pass it up, making sure it gets to her before I leave.

Feeling nice and drunk I strut out of class. There's booze waiting for my back at the suite, and I plan to get to it.

I stop by the bathroom after class since I have to piss like a racehorse. The bell to end second period rings out as I'm exiting the bathroom, and the halls are filled again with Beverly Hills brats rushing through their empty lives.

"McKay, is it true?"

I flip around, and this dude Steve Sanders is talking to me. Steve is like a question nobody asked. I've also grown up with him, but we're not really friends. He comes off like an empty-headed pompous douche most of the time.

"Is what true man?"

"About the girl in Paris?"

I roll my eyes and see other kids also staring at me, and whispering. I don't bother answering Sanders, I just give him a look to beat it. He shrugs his shoulders and walks off. I'm so disgusted I want to puke my guts out right here in the hallway.

It's morning break now, and the perfect time to get out of here. I flip open the doors leading to the quad, so I can hightail it to the parking lot. I'm almost there when something stops me in my tracks completely. It's a girl. A girl I've never seen before. She's sitting on a bench reading. She's actually reading. All around me people are rushing around even bumping into me, but I can't take my eyes off her. She has this dark brown hair blowing in the wind so softly, and she's sitting by herself, with what looks like some kind of novel in her lap. I have no idea who she is. It's not every day you see anyone reading around here, especially a girl like this. She tucks some hair behind her ear, and looks up now, turning her head both ways, but doesn't see me staring at her. She looks kind of lonely, and out of place, but wow she's beautiful. She has these big blue innocent ocean eyes, and her face is framed by these dark bangs. Her legs are crossed, and she's wearing a long skirt with cowboy boots, and this tight black top. She seems totally enthralled in her book. I really want to go over and ask her what she's reading but my legs won't move. What the hell is the matter with me? I'm filled with enough booze right now, that I should be able to go over there, but I can't. Before I can make up my mind, she gets up, and throws her backpack on her shoulder, and starts walking in the opposite direction. The breeze in the air makes her skirt and hair trail in the wind like a scarf behind her. I've definitely never seen this girl before. I would remember if I had. I watch her go longingly wondering why I don't go talk to her. Who is she? She stops walking and actually greets Kelly Taylor, and one of Kelly's devoted followers Donna Martin. They give her some awkward hugs, and they all walk off together. That dark hair is hypnotizing, and I watch her go until I can't see her in the crowd anymore.


	5. Tacky

_**Note:**_ _Dear, Readers_

_I'm so so sorry it took me so long to update. I've been wanting to write like crazy, but life can get hectic. I'm trying to make sure I keep time for what is very important to me, like my writing. It's such a release for me, and it's what I love. Anyway, thank you for your patience, and words of encouragement. It means more than I could say. I hope you're still with me. Now let's get back to it..._

One of the worst things Jack ever did to me was the time he invited this horrible woman named Kiara into our lives. He moved her into the mansion in the hills with us out of nowhere. Kiara didn't take to me very well. We hated each other's guts. I found her to be a trashy and desperate opportunist, and she found me to be a relic from Jack's past that she needed to get rid of since she was busy teaching Jack how to be an even bigger lowlife than he already was. Kiara was a total golddigger. She kept trying to start businesses that failed with Jack's money. Stupid shit like this gaudy tasteless fashion line, and these nasty smelling soaps. Jack was all too happy to teach her the _business ropes _while they sniffed occasional coke together out on the terrace. She'd wave these tacky long acrylic fingernails around, and leave the sink piled high with dishes with her nasty lipstick stuck on them. Kiara was also some kind of aspiring model, and Jack was all too happy to take pictures of her all over the house. He'd snap Kiara laying on top of the grand piano, or out on the terrace wearing one of her loud skanky outfits she considered high fashion. Imagine trying to do your homework while Kiara is squatting her ass out like she was going to the bathroom over on the other side of the room. I hated Kiara and everything she represented. Jack insisted on keeping her around though. She eventually let Jack know in no indiscriminate terms that I was _persona non grada _in my own house. So they threw me out together. Not that I planned on sticking around with that whore in the picture anyway. It was then, that I moved into the Bel Age.

Jack was all too happy to be alone with Kiara. It wasn't long after that he actually left town with her and took her to Manhattan for a while. He moved her in with him, in the penthouse, he kept in the city, while he left me alone in California. I knew I could never forgive him for this, and I haven't. I hated him more than I had ever hated him, after his complete dismissal of me. It made me sick to my core. I knew after that he had never been the man I thought he was or could be.

While Jack was busy playing house with Kiara, the bottle kept me company. I'd come home and get drunk hating both of them, and everything around me, wondering why _this_ woman who clearly loathed me had such a hold on him. Why did he care about her so much more than me? Sometimes the anger scared me, but writing in my journals, and surfing kept me from falling into a complete black hole.

I remember calling up Jack nice and drunk in the middle of the night and I'd scream, and curse at him about how fucking horrible and low he was to take off with her. Jack _claimed _he was just helping Kiara get on her feet. She came from a poor family, and had a homeless mother he said. Kiara needed time to be able to get her life together, so that when he did leave she would be alright. I knew it was all bullshit. Jack and his ego liked having this woman dependent on him. He liked keeping me dependent too and messing with my head. He needed people to be at his mercy. It made him feel like some kind of sick twisted hero _helping _Kiara out in life while she stayed available for sex for him. I found out later though that Kiara's mother had connections in Hollywood, and was never all that homeless. Jack at the time wanted to start getting movies financed. He always claimed there was so much untouched money in Hollywood vs dealing with just rich normal people's money or some shit like that. So much for Jack _helping others_. He was the one who wanted to be helped. Eventually, he dumped Kiara for a younger bimbo with even better _connections_ as soon as he got the chance. I almost felt sorry for poor Kiara who ended up on a heap of antidepressants after dealing with Jack. Almost.

Now Jack had taken off again and was out of the country. Who knows what he had up his sleeve this time. Was there another Kiara out there, or just more people to rip off. Sometimes I feel so ashamed of him, I want to change my last name.

I twist a fork around in my hand until I start bending it absentmindedly.

"Hey McKay easy on the silver there, that's stuff not plastic, or cheap."

I look up and my buddy Nat- who owns my favorite restaurant in all of LA, the Peach Pit- is looking down at me, as he refills my coffee.

"Oh sorry Nat, I guess that last slice of pie sent me into a daze."

"Yeah will ease up kid, or I'm going to have to start charging you double since you're here so much." Nat laughs at his joke, and I give him my best interpretation of what I remember a smile to be.

Nat's a good dude. Probably the best guy in LA. I've been coming to the Pit since I was a kid. I used to walk here after school since Jack never remembered to pick me up. I'd sit here, and read or do my homework. The food's decent, but the real reason I come is that there's something about this place that's welcoming and warm. Maybe it's the jute box, and pie or Nat himself, but I never get that feeling from anything else in LA except the ocean.

I sip my coffee and then wince since it's too hot as usual.

"Nat what are you trying to burn my tongue off," I call over to him.

"Actually that's what I wouldn't mind doing."

I look up, and hovering over me now is that girl from history class Michelle. I'd forgotten that I even made a date with her, and why I even came here tonight in the first place. She's smiling at me in a sexy naughty way, and wearing a dress so short it practically requires one of those parental advisory sticker warnings over it that are on cd covers.

I give her a grin and forget about my fucking coffee.

#

About an hour later, Michelle and I are curled up on my bed in the suite watching _Rebel Without a Cause. _ It's one of the greatest movies ever in my opinion, and I really relate to James Dean's character Jim Stark. It's like looking in a mirror. There's something about old movies, that I just don't feel from the new shit Hollywood spurns out. The way the old movies were told with a story first, and razzle dazzle second really appeals to me. I guess simplicity is something I find lacking in my own life or something.

I'm so wrapped up in Jim Stark's angst, I don't notice Michelle fiddling with the buttons on my shirt. I look at her, and she's not paying attention to the movie at all.

I give her a smile, and turn the volume down for a minute right at the part where Jim is getting his tires slashed. I'm suddenly feeling very claustrophobic with Michelle all over me.

"I'm going to head to the bathroom, be right back," I tell her scooting away.

"Hurry back," Michelle calls after me oblivious.

I walk into the bathroom and start splashing some water on my face. I thought tonight could be fun, and help me take my mind off things, but all I can see are Jack's empty face, and him walking out of the suite with the door slamming shut behind him. I take a few deep breaths, before turning the knob, and opening the door back up.

What I see next definitely takes my mind off things. Michelle is sitting up on the bed, and she's totally naked now. All she's wearing is a smile.

"Hi, I was getting lonely, while you were gone," she purrs.

I know my mouth is hanging open. I was not expecting this at the moment.

Michelle has a body like a Porsche Speedster. My eyes take in her succulent breasts, and the curve of her hips, and like a knee jerk reflex I'm on top of her, and our mouths are moving together wild, and urgently.

My lips fall down to her chest, and she's all hot skin and panting. I'm still fully clothed with her totally naked underneath me. I feel myself growing more and more excited until I'm suddenly not.

I don't know what it is. It's like this dark rain cloud is in the room, and right over the bed now. All I can see is Jack calling me a _piece of shit. _I see him smacking and pushing me around. Then there's bottles and bottles of liquor pouring down my throat and smashing against the wall. I can see myself drowning deep into the dark ocean, and then there are quick flashes of that girl from earlier. The one who was on the bench reading. I can see her wisps of dark hair blowing around, but she's replaced with Jack's angry face again. I see everything but doing this with Michelle right now.

I roll off her and sit up on the side of the bed with my elbows on my knees rubbing my face with my hands.

"What's wrong?" Michelle asks

I run my hands through my hair now, wondering what the fuck is wrong with me. Michelle is one hot piece, and she's willing and able, and I can't do it. I'm so depressed that sex won't even help me anymore. I've been here before, I've done this with a ton of girls, but eventually, there's nothing else between us, and it's just emptiness again. My whole life is emptiness. I don't know how to explain this to her.

"Maybe we should just finish the movie," I tell her.

"Are you serious?" Michelle asks in disbelief.

I sort of half laugh wondering if I really am serious. I feel like a bitch. Why can't I just give her what she wants? I don't know why. I just know that I don't want to. It's not going to help me anymore.

Michelle starts wrapping the bed comforter around herself. "Wow, I guess I had you pegged wrong." She stands up angrily with the comforter around her practically throwing me off the bed, as she swipes it from underneath me.

"Michelle-" I start.

"What are you some kind of fag?"

I shake my head, disgusted by how nasty she really is.

She's hurriedly putting her stretchy dress back on and grabs her shoes as she heads to the bedroom door of the suite.

"Fuck you Dylan," she says seethingly.

I stare at the drapes in the room, as she closes the door hard behind her, and then I hear the other door in the living room slam shut.

I turn back to the tv screen and Jim is now choking Jack, I mean Frank...

_Note to readers: _ _I know this chapter has some harsh language, that I don't condone in any way, but I'm telling a story and I try to keep the characters real in their ugliness. _

_ If you haven't seen Rebel Without a Cause with James Dean you should read the synopsis for it on Wikipedia. It really is a groundbreaking movie way ahead of its time. _

_ With this chapter, I really wanted to show that Dylan is looking for more than just cheap thrills and sex now, but doesn't really know it yet. Stay with me, as he finds her... _


	6. Walking on Water

My fist slammed down into Jack's face over and over again. It was for him being a user and humiliating me. It was for being a manipulating narcissistic sociopathic con-man, and not caring who he abuses, as long as it doesn't affect his bottom line. It was for the times he never returned my calls, and ignored my messages, and refused to explain himself. It was for all the times he led me on and made me think he wanted to be in my life. It was for him taking so many photos of fucking Kiara when I remember the one time I asked him to take a photo of me with my board after I'd won a surfing competition, he told me he was "busy" and had to get to work, and it was time to leave. It was for the times he told me I didn't matter, and that I was_ persona non grada_. I kept punching him and punching him, and in the background, I could hear the faint sound of Kiara asking him to take another picture of her, and then I could hear all his other bimbos congregating in a corner somewhere. I kept punching him harder and harder, then his face turned into my own. I was punching myself. I was punching myself for falling for his crap. I punched myself for letting him manipulate me. I punched myself for being cursed to have ever known him. I punched myself for ever thinking things could change. I punched myself for ever having cared. I was out of breath, and as I pulled my hand back, it was covered in blood.

I woke out of breath and gasping. My face was covered in sweat, and my heart was pounding like a storm. That was the worst dream of my life. I ran my hand down my face glad it was over. The room was still too dark, and I was afraid of the images I'd see if I closed my eyes again. Half asleep, I stumbled out of bed and headed for the liquor cabinet in the suite. I could find it with my eyes closed, but that didn't stop me from banging into about a million things on the way there.

"Fuck!" I yelled out as I knocked into the bar stool. Angrily I picked it up and tossed it. I got to the cupboard now and pulled out whatever was in there. I pulled the cap off some Jack Daniels and down my throat it went, but when the name on the bottle "Jack" stared back at me I tossed it across the room as well. I reached for the other stuff, the good hard stuff.

My face was being slapped now over and over.

"McKay, McKay wake yo ass up boy."

I swatted the hand away, and that's when my eyes opened to find my friend Henry the cook hanging over me. Henry was the head chef at the Bel Age, and almost every night he sends free meals up to the room for me, just because he thinks I'm a _good kid_.

"Get off me," I gurgle, and then I'm puking on the suite carpet.

"Look at you McKay you're a freaking mess."

I puke some more. I don't even have time to grab a wastebasket.

Finally, it stops a bit, and I lean back against the bar, wiping some throw up off my chin with my shirt.

"Yeah, well I could say the same about your dinner specials," I manage to crack in between a coughing fit.

"I left some food by the door for you last night. When I was delivering some trays up here this morning, I noticed it was still sitting by the door nice and cold, so I grabbed a key card, and let myself in. Glad I did because I've never seen you this bad."

"I'm fine." I try to get up, but I just wobble to the side.

"Henry grabs a wastebasket, and kneels down beside me.

"Is it yo daddy kid? I haven't exactly seen Mr. McKay around lately. He getting himself into more trouble?"

Henry knows Jack's never around. We've had some conversations. He noticed me always ordering food for one up to the suite. Given that I'm still under eighteen he almost called child protective services on Jack, until I begged him not to. Who knows what the hell Jack and his goons are capable of.

"It's not Jack." I lie. "I'm under control."

"I don't think so kid, you still attending those meetings? If I was you I'd get yo' butt to one before yo' daddy gets back. I don't think he'd like to see you all messed up like this."

"I'm good Henry." I try to assure him, as I swallow back some puke. "You got any French Toast?"

Henry smirks at me and then manages to leave me some food, and black coffee before heading back downstairs.

I eye the puke on the carpet, the thrown bottle of Jack Daniels, and the tossed bar stool. There's also a collection of empty bottles on the bar counter. No problem here.

#

"My name's Dylan and I'm an alcoholic." The words tumble out of my mouth like nothing. I'm mumbling them to myself at my locker this morning. Maybe if I keep saying it to myself and not just at meetings I'll start sticking with the program a little better. I guess I'm still partially drunk, but at least I had the decency to catch a cab to school this morning instead of driving myself. I lean back against my locker and close my eyes, when I open them I'm startled to see that girl striding by my locker. That girl. The one who was reading at the bench. I catch her as she's throwing her head back laughing at something. She seems to be moving through some kind of fog in my brain. I take her in, and watch the way her hair shakes down her back as she laughs, and the way her eyes light up like a sun in the middle of the dank hallway. She's actually walking with Kelly Taylor and Donna Martin of all people. I eye her some more, curious as fuck as she goes down the hall. Who is she?

"So I heard you scored on Michelle last night. Nice job dude."

I'm interrupted watching mystery girl to find Steve Sanders standing next to me now, grinning at me proudly.

"What?" I ask pissed off he killed the moment.

"You and Michelle Abrams, everyone's talking about it."

"Talking about what?"

"Ouch, no good huh? Well sometimes even the hot ones need a little breaking in, if you know what I mean," Sanders laughs.

I wonder why he's even standing here. "Beat it Sanders," I say rubbing my temples together. I give him my best _get the fuck out of here face. _Luckily Steve decides it's in his best interests to leave.

"Dude don't take it out on me, if she sucked there's plenty of fish in the sea if ya know what I mean." Sanders starts talking in a bad Italian accent as he taps me on the shoulder and walks off smugly. That's when I see Michelle coming out of a class, and we catch eyes. She glares at me, then smirks happily as she throws her backpack over her shoulder and struts off.

I get it now. Michelle must have told everyone we fucked to make herself feel better about last night. Sometimes girls do that around here. There's been so many times when all I did was hang out with a chick, and then suddenly it's all over school that we did it. Whatever. I don't give a shit. If it makes Michelle feel better what the fuck do I care.

Instead of chasing after Michelle I look back in the direction of Mystery Girl, but she's long gone.

#

Hours later after sobering up, I'm sitting in my car at the beach. I can't stop staring at the ocean. I wish I could just walk on water and not sink to the bottom. The ocean is really the only place that feels like home to me. If I could I'd stay here all day. Maybe I should start. Fuck school. It's not doing much for me anyway. Maybe the only thing that stops me is that I know I wouldn't last out here too long without any human contact. As much as I want to isolate myself, I know it only makes things worse.

My thoughts drift to my mother and I wonder what her life is like in Hawaii. We haven't spoken in so long. I wonder if she ever thinks of me. I start to write in my journal and read the words aloud in my head as I write them.

_As at home as I feel by the ocean it confuses me too. How can I be surrounded by so much beauty but still feel so alone?_

I look down at the words, and they seem to be burning a hole right through the page. Maybe I'm still wasted, or maybe my mind's just playing tricks on me.

_Hi guys so I know this was a short chapter, but I wanted to give you guys something. Thank you to those of you looking forward to my chapters. I really love getting inside Dylan's head. I feel like his inner voice just talks to me. Lots more coming up. Dylan is finally going to meet Brandon, and I'm planning to give you all those extra extra moments we wanted to see on the show but didn't get to. _


	7. Ribbon

"The first time I had a drink was when I was 13 after I'd just won this surfing competition. I just entered it on a whim, by accident really. I was bumming around at the beach and I saw the sign for the competition. I had nowhere to really go that day. My dad was working. It was a Saturday but he was still working. He was always working..." I swallow hard as I look out at the sea of drunks in front of me.

I managed to get myself to a meeting tonight, and somehow I ended up sharing in front of the whole room. I don't know how I got in front of this microphone, but I guess I just couldn't hold all this shit in any longer. It was either get here tonight or keep drinking until I fall for good. It's like I'm hanging by a finger off the tallest mountain knowing that I'm going to drop soon, but still hoping someone somewhere is going to come out of nowhere and throw me a rope, as impossible as it feels.

I look down trying to regain my focus. It's nothing these people haven't heard before. I've sat here week after week as they've all shared the reasons why they're drunks. I've listened to the reasons they've all given of why they couldn't cope with the world around them and why the liquor was so damn good. That's what this is all about. None of us can really cope. We still can't, but we're here we're trying to make sense of it all. At least I think that's what I'm doing. What I'd really like to be doing though is heading back to the liquor cabinet at the Bel Age and finishing off whatever I didn't get to the other night.

I shake the thought away and try to get back to my story. "So I saw the sign, and I thought what the hell, I've got my board I'll just go hop on some waves. So I did just that. Afterward, we stood in front of the judges, and they told me I was the best. The best... I'd never really heard that before growing up. Jack always told me I was anything but, he didn't even have to tell me. He showed me with his actions. Anyway, they handed me this big trophy, and put this ribbon around my neck, like I was some big deal. I was just kind of shocked about it until Jack appeared out of the crowd. Which was amazing on that day of all days. The day I won this competition. He appeared out of the crowd like magic, with the sun shining and I remember feeling so proud that he was there to see me. I wanted to share it with him, this love I had of the ocean. I didn't even understand how he knew to be there, I was just glad that he was. So I looked down at his hands, and there was a camera in them. I remember running up to him, and the first thing I said, after seeing the camera was, "Dad get a picture of me with my board." I propped it up in the sand ready to take the pic, but he said, "I was just here getting photos of Kiara son, for her portfolio, plus I've got a meeting on the other side of town, it's time to go." Kiara was one of his model girlfriends. I just remember feeling so humiliated in that moment. I picked my board out of the sand, and just followed him to the car in a daze. It was like being in the car with a stranger. Like I was a stray dog, who had just wandered inside off the road. Jack drove with the top down that day, and I remember on the car ride back up into the hills my ribbon blew away. My winning ribbon just blew out of the car, and it felt like I went with it... He dropped me off, and took off to work. I didn't know what to do. I walked inside the house which was way too big, but not big enough for the both of us if that makes sense. I walked around the house and didn't know where to go. Every room felt cold. It didn't feel like my home, I just felt like some piece of furniture in a room that nobody goes in. So, I wandered over to the liquor cabinet, and I decided to celebrate my win in my own way, and after that, I celebrated all the time. I celebrated my failures, my rejections, and my losses...my many losses." I was done talking now and just looked out at the crowd.

Someone somewhere started slow clapping not that I needed any applause this time. I just need to keep myself away from that liquor cabinet tonight. I stay for the rest of the meeting and listen to more stories as pointless as my own, but they all lead somewhere. They led to all of us in this room together.

After the meeting comes to an end, I manage to spot my sponsor Pete in the crowd. I'm ashamed to say I haven't been calling him much lately. I've been giving into my every whim.

Pete and I shake hands. "Good to see you tonight McKay, I was hoping you were going to come back soon."

"Yeah but unfortunately I've only been sober for less than 24 hours."

"Hey, it's a start man. How's school going?"

"Honestly man, I've started to think about dropping out. I just don't see the point. There's nothing there for me."

"Don't do it Dylan. If anything school should be your lifeline right now. It's a life preserver. It'll keep you busy, and give you some direction. That's what you need right now if you're going to stick to the program," Pete tells me earnestly.

His words _life preserver_ echo in my ears and I wonder how you find one of those in an ocean as dark as my own.

_Hi guys, _

_I know this is another short chapter, but I really wanted to write about the first time Dylan had a drink. I always wondered about how his alcoholism started, since it was such a central part of his character. I know you're ready for him to meet Brenda and Brandon. They are coming up next I promise! I just had this idea for this scene and wanted to go with it. Lots more to come so stick with me, as it's only going to get more mad, bad and dangerous! I am having so much fun writing from Dylan's perspective. He's unpredictable and there are just so many places to take him. Stay tuned..._


	8. Welcome to Paradise

**"Welcome to Paradise"**

I couldn't sleep last night, so I drove over to paradise cove. I sat on some rocks looking down at the water below. Sometimes I wondered why I was even alive. What was the point of my existence? Life seemed to be nothing but pain and heartbreak, and then more pain. I didn't know how much more I could take. I watched as the sun rose over the water like some kind of planet. A hot burning one that lit the earth up like a furnace of chaos. I wondered if the sun had risen from hell, the way it jutted out of the water seemingly out of nowhere, disrupting the still waters below it. I wish the sun wouldn't rise sometimes. I wish it would let me sleep and never bother me again. The water began to sparkle, and crest as the morning breeze sloshed it back and forth. I squinted my eyes until I could see far out to the end. I wish I could get to the very end of the ocean, and just float. I would just float leaving behind all the pain and heartache. All the roads not taken, and people who didn't give a fuck. As I'd float I would need nothing, and nothing would need me. I'd just be there, floating until I turned back into Earth myself.

My mind wouldn't shut up and give me any peace. As I hugged my knees to myself, I began to think of Ryan Fuller out of nowhere. Ryan Fuller was this dude who used to live next door to me up in the hills with Jack. We were about the same age. He was a pretty cool dude, who enjoyed his lifestyle. He always had some killer one-liners and was pretty damn funny for a kid from Beverly Hills. We'd catch each other on the way to school sometimes, and share some banter. I remember he was so excited when he'd gotten this shiny little red corvette for his birthday. I used to hear him gunning the engine in the morning when I'd still be up in my room. When I'd wake up and head out to my car, I could see the tread marks his tires would leave against the pavement. He used to ask me to go driving with him, but I'd always turned him down. "Come on McKay, you're from Beverly Hills aren't you," he'd always say right before he'd take off down the winding road. I never knew what the fuck he meant by that until maybe right now. I think he was trying to tell me that we were given _this_ life so we might as well ride it out until the bitter end. The bitter end did come for Ryan sadly. He got into a wreck down the highway, and veered over the edge of the hill and died instantly. I remember Jack and I knocking on the door of his house to offer our condolences to his parents. While we sat there in the living room watching his hysterical grief-stricken parents cry and sob in agony, I wondered why it wasn't me. Why wasn't I the one that got taken out? What the fuck was I still doing here? I wished I could join him right now. I wished I never had to sit on this rock and feel anything ever again just like him. I didn't have the guts though. Plus I still had hope. I still had hope, I guess that something could save me from my life. Maybe I wouldn't go over the edge, but you know how hope is. It can blind you into being a fool, and I was definitely that. I remember all the times I tried to tell myself that Jack was just busy with work. That he wanted me in his life. I wanted to believe that I wasn't cursed to know him, but I was. He didn't love me and never did. It didn't matter if it was Kiara or something else. Long before her, he never gave a fuck about me even then. You don't want to believe the worst of people sometimes, but when things are right in your face, the truth feels worse than tumbling down these rocks would right now. The truth is its own death. Truth is the death of hope. I was already pretty much dead inside.

At this point I wanted a drink so bad, I thought I was going to scratch my face off. Reluctantly, I picked myself up and hopped in the Porsche. I could see Ryan Fuller in my head as I gunned the engine and took off for the last place in the world I wanted to deal with, West Beverly High.

In spite of the burning inside me, later on, I was walking through the halls as if I wasn't screaming inside. As if I wasn't on my last level of tolerance for the joke that is my life. All I could see and taste on the tip of my tongue was that brown liquid going down my throat, and burning me to that spot where things get all floaty and calm. Things definitely weren't all floaty now. They were tense, painful and very uncomfortable, and not just physically.

I actually made it to tech class today. I've been ditching for weeks so I don't know where the hell the class is at or what I'm supposed to be doing. Mr. Balmer gave me a dirty look when I walked in after not showing up for weeks. I could tell he wanted to tell me something but the look on my face must have made him back off. I'm sure I look like hell. It doesn't help that every human body I see looks like a bottle of something. I'm a hallucinating fucking mess.

Tech class was a good place to hide in actually, to nurse my very bad desire for a drink. The room was lit dark as we could be looking for sparks, in the batteries we were supposed to be charging. I didn't have a battery or give two fucks what should be doing what, so I just sat to the back fiddling around with some wires but mostly trying to not think about booze.

I had no idea who anyone was in this class, I just faced the back and kept my head down.

Mr. Balmer was shouting out some directions to the class, and then he let us do our own thing. I fiddled with the wires in my hand, and they actually sparked a bit. I was so caught up in watching the lights flare as I connected them I didn't hear what was causing the scuffle going on toward the side of the room.

"Hey hey hey take it easy guy!" I heard some dude shout.

I turned around and immediately assessed the situation. Two dudes who looked like inbred ass sniffers were harassing a little freshman working on his computer.

Before even thinking I was out of my seat telling the two nut stains where to go. I mentioned some shit about "feeling hostile" today which was the truth. Without the liquor in my system right now I felt like I could literally rip these two limp-dicked jocks heads off and send them rolling down the hallway. After I sent them on their way, I grabbed my _Byron the Collective Works_ book and headed out of class. The bell for lunch was about to ring anyway.

I headed down the hall stuffing my hands in my pocket. I could feel the shakes coming, and I didn't want to give in. I hightailed it over to some stairs to sit and read. When I reached my spot I took a deep breath, and let the work of Byron calm my hands and mind.

I was lost in the poetry when some dude was calling up to me from the bottom of the stairs. I looked down and saw a guy who looked my age. He had sandy-colored hair and was wearing his pants a little too tight. He didn't look like he was from around here. In fact, I didn't know him at all. I'd never seen him before in my life. He was complimenting me on how I dealt with those two assholes before.

"I just don't believe in winning through intimidation," I called down. "That is unless I'm doing the intimidating," I added ready to go back to my book.

"My name's Brandon, Brandon Walsh." The dude called up to me.

I squinted down at this kid. He sure was being "friendly" and had a lot to say.

Against my better judgment, I called back down, "Brandon Walsh... Scotch or Irish?"

"Both actually, by way of Minnesota," he yelled up.

I peered down at the kid. He seemed sincere. Nobody usually introduces themselves around here, unless they want to get ignored, but this dude seemed different. Like he already knew the rules but just didn't care anymore.

Absurdly, Brandon asked me if I wanted to go grab a burger.

"Yeah let's do lunch," I said back a little too snidely, but I gave him a half-grin, kind of charmed by his persistence. "Don't see much water in Minnesota..." I called down after a moment.

"A lot of lakes no oceans..." he called up undefeated.

"My sympathies." I felt bad for Brandon Walsh from Minnesota. Not only was he from no man's land, but he didn't know an ocean from the back of his hand.

I stood up ready to get the hell out of here.

"Come on," I said bounding down the stairs quickly.

"Where we going?" he asked

"Field trip..." I answered vaguely. As far as I was concerned school was done for the day. If I didn't get the hell out of here now, I'd go home later and drink myself into a huge stupor that I might not wake up from.

Brandon followed me out to the parking lot. I made sure to walk a ways ahead of him since I don't know this kid. He followed quickly trying to catch up.

"So you mean you're just going to leave school for lunch?" he asked concerned.

I hopped into the Porsche without opening the door. "Why not?" I asked back.

Brandon stammered a minute as he took in the Speedster. I could tell he was worried about getting busted, but smartly he walked around the car and got in the passenger side.

I took off too quickly to show off, and Walsh strapped himself in.

We took off through the streets of Beverly Hills. It felt funny to have a "lunch date" if you want to call it that. I didn't know this kid from the gel in my head but he wasn't from around here, and that made him alright by me actually. It was a breath of fresh air to be in the company of someone I could tell wasn't a Beverly Hills bitch boy with a trust fund unlike myself. Walsh seemed like he had been dropped down from the farm into my car, but it was alright.

We didn't say much on the ride to our destination until Walsh asked, "We're not going back to school today are we?"

I glared at him as we stopped at a red light not willing to dignify that with a response. He got the hint.

"Hey, it's cool. I could use a tan anyway," he said lamely motioning to the Speedster top being down.

"Yeah that and then some..." I mentioned hoping he'd shut up, but he didn't.

As we drove down the winding Topanga Canyon roads toward PCH, Walsh unleashed a biography into the car. He told me all about how his family had just moved here from Minnesota, and how Beverly Hills and California were like foreign dimensions. He had a twin sister and didn't know what he was doing here.

I listened to him without interrupting. I could tell he had a lot on his mind, so I let him run the conversation.

Finally, we reached our destination. I was back at Paradise Cove. I looked out at the ocean, hoping it would look different from my gloomy morning and it did a little bit. I watched as the farm boy took it all in.

"Man, I've been dreaming about this place," he exclaimed.

"Welcome to paradise man welcome to your dream come true," I said taking it in with him. I've seen the ocean a zillion times, but those first few moments of looking out at the wild blue always get to me too.

We didn't say much for a minute, but I could sense what he was feeling. California is a special place unlike any other, and I've traveled the world. There's a feeling here, that if you had to die somewhere this would be it. The water, and the sun together along with the mountains and palm trees create this intoxicating blend of something. It's something I knew Walsh hadn't experienced in Minnesota or probably ever. There's a sense of magic here that makes it feel heaven could be just around the corner. I guess it's that California dream I always hear about. No matter how bad it gets I don't think I'd want to be anywhere else but next to the pacific honestly. The ocean and California would always find me no matter where I'd go.

We got out of the car and I grabbed my couple of surfboards from the back, and my wet suit. I eyed Walsh though who had his hands on his hips staring out into the blue yonder sniffing to himself and grabbed an old boogie board from the trunk that I hadn't used in ages.

We headed down towards the sand from the lookout I was parked on. When we got close enough to the water I spotted Eric, Dwayne, and Sarah. They were heading toward us and they were giving Walsh the stink eye.

I chirpily introduced everyone, and Eric and Dwayne seemed to relax

"Come on Dylan let's catch some waves," Sarah called out. Before we knew it we were all out in the surf having a blast. I forgot about my dark thoughts and just focused on riding the waves letting them tell me where I needed to go. Walsh tried to stand up, but he wiped out fast, pretty bad actually. He wound up with a face full of sand.

"Yo Minnesota you alright?" I called out.

He wiped the hair out of his face and shouted back. "I love this!"

"Wipeout!" I called as everyone cheered for the surfing farm boy. Walsh was a good sport and seemed like a good dude. I was ready to give him the benefit of the doubt as we surfed around, and Walsh ended up putting the big board down and using the boogie board for the rest of the day. Later on, he took a break from the waves, and I saw on land talking to Sarah. They seemed deep in conversation and I wasn't about to interrupt. Besides, it takes a lot to pull me out of the ocean. Possibly the whole world.

I drove Brandon home later. He lived on Hillcrest drive in Beverly Hills. His family owned a modest by Beverly Hills standards Spanish style bungalow. It looked nice and wholesome kind of like Walsh himself.

"Thanks Dylan, this was an amazing day. Actually probably the best since I've moved here." Brandon mentioned.

"Anytime man," I said sincerely. It had been a good day. The morning had been full of morbid thoughts but now here I was actually feeling like I had made a friend. It was strange actually the way the day had turned around.

"And thanks for thinking I could handle the big board at first."

"Hey, it just takes time like anything else."

Walsh seemed okay with that and I gave him a sort of snappy handshake and watched him go.

Who knew a farm boy and a Beverly Hills punk like myself could get on so well.

#

Brandon and I did become good friends. He had a sense of realness about him, I didn't get from anyone else in school. I could tell he didn't care if you had famous parents, and he wasn't looking for connections, or to be invited to the hottest parties to hang with the trendies. Brandon cared about people. He was a good person. Not being from Beverly Hills was what I liked about him. I hadn't had a real friend in a long time, and Brandon was becoming that for me.

One night we were hanging out on the "sunset strip" as Brandon kept calling it. We were looking for some kind of scene to get into, but there wasn't shit going on. Finally, we just hopped back in the Porsche after bumping into Eric, Dwayne, and Sarah again. We agreed to peel out of there. As we hopped int the car Brandon ended up spotting my _Byron the Collective Works_ poetry book.

"What's this?" he asked

"Ahh a little leisure reading," I said quickly. I felt a bit unmasked that he found my book but I played it off.

"_Byron the Collective Works"_ Brandon said surprised.

I phrased what I said next carefully."Bad, mad and dangerous to know... That was him and that's me," I told him straight up.

"Do your surfer buddies know you read poetry?" Brandon asked dumbfounded.

"Ahh, those boneheads wouldn't know a poem if it walked up and bit 'em..." I mentioned.

We ended up getting into a squabble that night. Brandon found out I was living alone at the Bel Age after I pretended to sneak him, Eric Dwayne and Sarah into my suite for fun. Sometimes I liked living up to my reputation and playing into it, and I could fool the others but not Minnesota. It seemed like he could see right through me. I told him how my parents weren't exactly into "parenting."Days later he told me I should steer clear of Eric and Dwayne after they ended up letting Sarah surf drunk. She had to get her stomach pumped and almost od'd surfing drunk. If it hadn't been for Minnesota pulling her out of the water she would have died. I felt bad for Sarah. That could easily have been me passed out in the waves, but I'd been managing my sobriety better since meeting Brandon. It's funny how a friend can make your world feel a little more purposeful. I still had my temptations but I was actually doing a little better. Maybe there was a little boy scout left somewhere deep down inside just like Walsh.

I felt excited for him because his girlfriend Cheryl from Minneapolis was in town. I ended up meeting her and Brandon for lunch at the Bel Age. Cheryl seemed nice enough. She seemed to be into all that LA tourist shit though and wanted to meet _movie stars._ For Brandon's sake, I offered to take them out to this club for the night. We weren't 21 but I could get us in easy. I know the scene, and when I show up I get in no matter what. That's just how it goes when you know the LA scene like I do. Not that that's anything to be proud of, but I wanted to help Brandon have a good night with his girl.

I honked pulling into the Walsh parking lot and then got out of my car waiting for him and Cheryl. Cheryl peeled out of the house quickly with Brandon following behind her.

"Great car," she told me. She was eyeing the Porsche like a thirsty animal. I could tell she maybe wanted more than just a ride in it. I hoped Brandon was catching onto her. She was acting way to into me, and I felt bad for him. It was embarrassing how she didn't want to ride in his car. Brandon's car turned out to be that old piece of shit I had seen in the West Beverly parking lot that day. He called it Mondale, and it was an eyesore, and Cheryl was obviously not into it, but she was making it a little too obvious.

Cheryl started in about wanting to ride with me, and how she'd never get a chance to ride in a Porsche again and blah blah blah. I felt uncomfortable as fuck for Brandon, but he seemed to want Cheryl to be happy and to go with me. While they decided back and forth something happened. Something amazing that I had not been expecting.

"Brandon could you possibly move any slower." I looked over to the voice on the other end of the driveway and standing there was that beautiful brunette from the bench. The one who had been catching me off guard every time I spotted her. It was her, she was Brandon's sister. What the fuck. I couldn't even believe she was just standing here right now a few feet away from me. I wanted to say something but my mouth just gawked. That wasn't like me. We caught eyes for a brief moment, but she seemed totally unaware and bored by me. She mentioned some shit about having to get to her babysitting job to Brandon, and then like that she disappeared inside Mondale before Brandon got a chance to introduce us.

"I'll drop Brenda off, and meet you guys there," Brandon told Cheryl and me a little reluctantly.

I was still looking in Brenda's direction and didn't even want to go to some fucking club now. I wanted to follow Brenda to wherever the hell she was going. Brenda. _She_ was Brandon's twin sister, and if he knew what was running through my mind right now he'd fucking kill me.

_Dear Readers, _

_Thank you so much for your patience. I hope you're still with me. The last few months have been a blur of stuff so I haven't gotten the chance to update. I was wanting to write the whole time, though. I hate when I'm not writing. I'm going to try to keep updating as much as possible because I need this story. It helps me in so many ways. So, Dylan finally meets Brandon in this chapter yay! He also had that epic-ally understated first meeting with Brenda sort of on the Walsh's driveway. I always loved that scene because it's actually the first scene between Dylan and Brenda even though they don't acknowledge each other. You could tell they noticed each other though. I always loved how Dylan's gaze hangs on her a moment longer than normal there. Great stuff. So I hope you enjoyed the chapter. I didn't put in a lot of the scenes from the Green Room episode because I want to get to the meat of the story. I felt that was a great episode to introduce Dylan, so I tried to put in the important parts. I hope you're with me. We are so close to the 90210 reboot, but Luke is not here. It still hurts. Writing this story is helping though and I'm not going to stop. _


	9. Gut Check

**Gut Check **

Cheryl and I rode on to the club in silence for a bit, but then she started talking a mile a minute about all this Beverly Hills bullshit I wasn't interested in. I made sure to nod, and mumble, "mmhmm" at the appropriate moments but I had my mind fixed on that moment with Brenda back in Brandon's driveway. Damn Brandon and Brenda. Walsh's parents must be straight out of a Brady Bunch episode. It didn't matter about the lettering. The name Brenda was running through my mind like a rollercoaster. I felt it all the way to my stomach. What the fuck was my deal? She was just a chick. She happened to be Walsh's sister so that means even if she did ever manage to be alerted to my existence it meant I can't do anything about it. At least not the kind of stuff I'd like to do about it.

I shook myself out of my thoughts as the _ever_ exuberant Cheryl was asking me about something.

"So do you go to school with any celebrity kids?" she asked.

I managed to pull up to the club _Floodlights_ just in time to not really bother answering.

"I wouldn't know, I don't really know what a _celebrity_ is?" I answered shutting off the engine abruptly.

"You mean you don't care?" Cheryl asks dumbly.

"Now you're getting it." I smirk at her hard, in my way I know the girls like.

Cheryl seems to accept that. I jump out of the car without opening the door or shutting the hood. I made sure to hurry around, and open Cheryl's door for her because I'm not a total asshole.

I grab her hand as she gets out, and I can instantly tell I'm already doing too much. She's grinning at me like a lion let out of their cage, and I'm the prize piece of meat.

I pull my hand away, and I catch the look on her face as I do so. Where the hell was Walsh? Oh yeah dropping off that gorgeous sexy sweet little sister of his. Great.

Cheryl and I approach the club and I can tell she feels a bit self- conscious amidst the bevy of Los Angeles party girls in sparkly bustiers, mini-skirts cut practically to

their labia and hooker high knee boots. Cheryl did look a bit out place, but that was fine with me. Who would want to be from here? I'm embarrassed about it myself.

We walk up cooly to the big bouncer who works Floodlights. I leave him Brandon's name just in case he isn't inside yet. He knows me good from this pool hall I like to frequent, and as soon as he sees me he nods and parts the little velvet rope barrier for us, and just like that we're inside. No ids, no money exchanged. Just like that.

"Wow I've got to go out with you more often," Cheryl remarks clearly impressed.

I shrug. "It comes with knowing the scene around here," I remark.

" Wow McKay you really are from another world." Cheryl stares at me a little too proudly.

"So…you don't think Brandon is here yet do you?" I know he's not but I feel bad for Brandon by the way she keeps looking at me. Poor Walsh, doesn't know that his woman is ready to leap on the first dude ready to show her what she thinks is the "good life." I'm sure any kind of open wallet does it for her too.

"I love this song!" Cheryl exclaims dragging me out onto the dance floor.

Before I can protest she's bumping and grinding all over me, and honestly my body starts reacting because I'm mostly a dog. Cheryl is a wild dancer, and I see other dudes walking by eying her. They can take over for all I really care.

Before my mind can think of an excuse to make us stop dancing she drags me over to the bar and the bartender also knows me so we don't get carded, and although I know I shouldn't, I shoot one down. I honestly hate clubs, but this is how I deal with my discomforts in life. I drink and numb myself. It's all I'm good for.

Cheryl is like a kid let inside of a candy store as she thirstily downs her bright blue beverage like she never drank before. Then she gets another one, and drags me back onto the floor. I have more fun dancing with her now. I'm not drunk, but I know the alcohol's inside me, and I can tell she's already gone so we lose our inhibitions more. She starts doing her gyrations with her ass against my crotch but I turn her around because Walsh is my dude, and despite what an easy score she'd be, I could never do that to my best friend.

A fast song keeps playing but Cheryl and I wrap our arms around each other. We start swaying to the music, and grin although no one really made a joke.

"You know McKay maybe I'm already ready for the after party if you know what I mean," she remarks blandly.

She must think I live under a rock if she thinks I don't know what she means. "You know Brandon should be arriving soon." I remind her.

Cheryl shrugs and makes a face, and I wince inside for Walsh.

"I know I look like some boring Minnesota girl to you but you don't know what's underneath all this," she says quietly.

My eyes bug out a bit at her bluntness but I'm still not phased. I'm not into her like that. This whole thing was just a favor to Walsh that appears to have backfired badly. I also have a feeling that she means more than just her naked body is underneath _all this. _Walsh is in way over his head with this one.

I don't respond, and we just keep dancing. I look into her eyes though because it seems like she needs it.

"You want to tell me when you're done dancing."

I'm grateful to have our moment broken, but Brandon is in front of us now, and he looks pissed. He spouts out some shit at us about not leaving his name at the door. I did but Cheryl defends me a little too fiercely and then stalks away which I'm glad for.

As soon as she's gone I try to fill Walsh in on all he missed.

"Man she is wild!" I tell him pushing him aside.

"She is not!" Brandon grits his teeth at me.

"Well you must be on sensory overload or something," I mock him.

"Dylan you could probably go out with any girl in the school that you want, why are you hitting on my girlfriend?"

"What are you talking about?" I answer him surprised.

" Come on Dylan I know how you operate… Look at my nice car, let me buy you a drink, no let's just go in Brandon will find us-"

"That is not what happened!" I yell in his face cutting him off.

"It doesn't work with Cheryl, she's not into your car, she's not into your cash, and she's only into one guy!"

"You?" I ask him ready to laugh in his face. Who the hell does Minnesota think he is talking to me like this. The alcohol has made me calmer than I would normally be with some dude yelling in my face.

"That's right!" Brandon shouts like a mental case.

"Well then I think you both need to have a serious talk because as much as I hate to tell you this… your girlfriend hit on me tonight!"

My words soak in the air for what feels like a quiet moment despite the dance club around us, then Walsh's fist is flying at my face, and I fall backwards into a crowd of Los Angeles dip-shits.

It takes me a moment to process what happened, as I hold my face for a moment. Then I get up off the floor immediately and charge at him. I want to hit him back. Hit him because I thought he was my friend, hit him because he is completely clueless about the fact that it's his sister who has been driving me mad for weeks, and despite the fact that I thought he was the one person in school who wasn't a Beverly Hills zombie. I thought he was my best friend.

Instead of hitting him, I grab Walsh roughly by the collar and through gritted teeth I tell him, "You better figure out who your friends are..." I release his collar now and push him away like the little fuck he is.

I stalk out of the club, and hop in the Porsche without opening the door. Fuck Walsh, and his stupid girlfriend Cheryl. I pull away from Floodlights with my tires screeching. My face hurts, and I feel like driving my car into a wall. Who would miss me much anyway?

I drive through the LA streets, until I'm back in my neighborhood and wonder how everything can feel so pointless in a place that so many people dream of. Beverly Hills with all its sunny weather, Palm trees, and big houses felt like the edge of nowhere. I exist here, but I'm not alive. I'm burning but I'm nothing at the same time.

I pull into the Bel Age and hop out of the car. Time to go get the good stuff back at the suite. I'm going to get drunk out of my brains tonight. I stalk into the lobby, and head back up to the suite. I stop abruptly though when I see the little hell raiser herself standing outside my door. It's Cheryl. I can tell right away she's been crying.

"I asked the front desk which room you were in," she says awkwardly as I approach.

I never could resist a damsel in distress I guess. I'm not going to fuck her, but I'll let her hang out if she needs to.

I open the door to the suite, and before I can turn down her advances again, she runs to the bathroom, and I can hear her heaving her guts out.

I sit at the foot of my bed, waiting for Cheryl to get the hell out of my bathroom already. I also help myself to some Scotch from the liquor cabinet. Finally, the door bursts open and she's covering her mouth. Honestly the only puke I prefer in my bathroom is my own but whatever. She approaches me and sits next to me on the bed. She was in there for about a half hour and I'm pretty drunk now. My willpower is nil. I stare at the floor. I don't want anything to happen, but she's like some little nympho or something. She's Brandon's girlfriend though, and I still respect that despite the fact that he tried to kick my ass earlier.

Instead of making me a bigger asshole than I already am Cheryl speaks. "You don't know how horrible my life is."

I stare down at the hotel room carpet having a vague idea.

#

I wake up in my bed, but it feels more like I'm lying on a pile of nails. I drank until I was numb last night, and now every fiber of skin on my body feels like it's bruised. Maybe I was thrown off my balcony or Brandon finished me off. I cough, and immediately throw up over the side of the bed, then I fall off it and sit by my puke. My puke and I are regular companions these days.

Actually no that's not right. Even all the alcohol inside me is not enough anymore. I'm sure Brandon and I worked things out last night. I sort of remember I think. Cheryl was here and she hogged my bathroom most of the night. Then Brandon came in and we had some words. I let him know she wasn't into me. Brandon and I came to a truce, and then I let him and Cheryl talk in the suite for a while. When I came back to the room after drinking on the roof I remember seeing melting bowls of ice cream all over the coffee tables. The melted ice cream memories turn into globs of molten lava inside my brain. I lean my head back against the wall and then I bang it a few times.

"You fucking drunk!" I yell at myself. The words seem to echo off the walls all the way to nowhere.

#

Hours or maybe a day later, who the hell really knows anymore, Stacy from West Bev is riding me like that mechanical bull at that shit-hole place on Sunset Blvd I can't remember the name of right now. Who can remember anything when you're getting fucked as hard as Stacy fucks. It feels good but not good enough. Nothing does these days.

"Oh my god McKay," Stacy yells out as she collapses on top of me a sweaty sticky mess. I lose it at the same time, and in moments everything turns back into the dark gray world that sex only temporarily alleviates.

Stacy lifts her head up after a moment from my chest and starts smiling at me hard and then laughing. I laugh too. Pretty soon we're in hysterics and we fall off the bed together laughing like two deranged assholes.

She eyes me like she's already for another go 'round and then she digs in her bag on the floor and pulls out a small vile filled with powder. In about three seconds most of it goes up her nose then she hands me the vile. I take it in my hand and turn it up and down in my fingers, watching the powder fall back and forth in the artificial light of the room. I'm not really in the mood, but up my nose it goes too, because why not?

Stacy crawls across the floor now, and straddles me. Yup definitely ready for round_, I lost count now_. Before we can get it going though there's a hard pounding on the suite door coming from the living room. It's loud and obnoxious. Enough so that I lose my hard on.

My lips part from Stacy's, who is giggling and oblivious like a manic mental patient.

The pounding gets louder.

"Better get that," I mumble to Stacy, although I don't think she even heard me as _happy _as she is.

I release Stacy to the carpet and she rolls over a sea of fleshy skin, perky tits, and flaming red hair. I pull some sweats on, but forget the shirt. I don't like the sound of the knocking. The hotel staff who know me like furniture never bang on the door this hard.

I check out the peephole, and I see some dude in a jet black suit. I feel my pulse start to quicken. I don't know if it's the coke or if I'm actually scared. Dudes in suits are never a good thing around here.

Tentatively, I undo the locks and open the door a crack.

"Hey, I'm Henry, a friend of your dads," a middle aged man greets me all business.

"I don't know any Henry-" I start but before I can get any further, like a bolt of lightning Henry throws his arm and pushes the door open wider and then I'm outside in the hall, and he's punching me hard in the gut. This is the second time in I think 48 hours I've been punched. The wind is knocked out of me, as I crumple to the floor like a little bitch.

Henry pulls me up instantly and straightens me out so I'm sitting up on the floor with my knees curled against my chest.

"What the hell is this," I mumble out trying to catch a breath.

"We've been trying to reach you kid, your _father_ has been trying to reach you but for some reason the phone kept going to voicemail. Have you checked any of those voicemails yet?"

The hurt, disgust and shock overwhelms me in moments. Did my father actually send one of his goons over here to beat up his own son? Maybe I shouldn't be too surprised at this point. Still, it's a new low even for him.

"No," I spit out on the floor. I try to get up but Henry the psychopath pushes me back down.

I vaguely remember hearing the phone last night while I was fucking, and getting drunk and high with Stacy, but who knows. I think an elephant could have been tramping through the suite and I wouldn't have noticed.

"You should make sure to check your messages kid. It's very important, when millions of dollars are at stake."

"Did Jack send you?" I garble out

"Yeah he did kid, but the punch he didn't order. That was courtesy of me. So don't take it out on your old man next time you see him."

"Next time…" I never know with Jack if there is a next time. I don't honestly care anymore.

"Yeah your old man will be back soon, and he wanted me to give you this."

Henry places a perfectly folded note in my hands.

I look him in the eye, and know I'm due another punch if I don't open it. Wincing in pain, as I shift against the wall I open it. Inside all it reads is

**VERY IMPORTANT**

_**Dylan don't forget to be at the SunTrust Bank Vault at noon on the 27**__**th**__**!**_

_** Jack**_

I stare at the words on the paper wondering why I was so unlucky in this universe to have a father like Jack. Most dads annoy their sons about how to make the football team, or what kind of motor oil they should be using in their cars. Mine nags me about meeting at creepy bank vaults to do illegal activity for him and his slime ball mobster friends.

"He already told me this," I tell Henry preparing for another punch.

Instead, Henry makes me want to punch him now because he runs his hands over my hair like I'm a pet dog.

"We know kid, we just don't want you to forget."

I swallow hard. I can feel my chin starting to quiver from fear, or maybe the alcohol or drugs.

"Tell Jack I got the message…" I say softly crumpling the paper a little in my hand.

Henry runs his hands over my hair again. "Good boy, any son of Jacks…" he says in this calm but eerily threatening tone.

Henry doesn't bother to finish his sentence. Instead he back away now, straightens his coat and walks off.

As soon as he's out of site, I manage to inhale a deep breath and run my trembling hands over my face. I glance up in the corner of the hall where I know the Bel Age keeps a video camera, but unsurprisingly it's not there anymore.

_Note for my readers!_

_Thank you to everyone who messaged me and asked for more. I'm so sorry it took so long. Sometimes a lot of pressures present themselves in life, but writing is everything to me so I could never forget about this story or Dylan!_

_Still more to come and I've been working on lots of ideas about where I want this to go. This story follows the timeline of season 1 but will take us into Dylan's mind and life as he meets the Walsh's. _

_I hope you'll stick along for the ride, and I apologize for the long delay. I still can't believe it's almost been a year since we lost Luke. I started writing this story when he was still here, and I will finish it as my tribute to him. _

_Please keep reading and reviewing! _

_It's only going to get more mad, bad and dangerous!_


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